


Waking

by Ithiliana



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiliana/pseuds/Ithiliana
Summary: Sean and Viggo finally get together.  It only took Boromir dying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of stand-alone backstory to one of the main pairings in my "Behind the Scenes" series. By request of Makesmewannadie who asked about the first time Viggo and Sean got together which make this happen. She is a Muse!
> 
> Thanks to Caras_Galadhon who came up with the Perfect Title!

After filming Boromir's death scene, Sean insisted upon having a wake for his character even though everyone knew he had another six months, at least, of filming to go. But the idea appealed enough to the cast and crew that their favorite pub was packed and noisy, even this late.

Viggo was standing at the furthest corner of the bar, in the only (nearly) quiet corner, watching Sean circulating. 

Boromir's cloven horn rested on the bar. 

The eulogies had been. . . varied. Orlando had started out with something that sounded vaguely Shakespearean. Viggo could have sworn he recognized two lines from _Hamlet_ , but it quickly turned into a rant about football, soccer, whatever, and seemed to me more about the sins of Sean's team than Boromir's death. Viggo had never understood what the two of them had going around soccer.

Billy's might have been obscene or it could have been the most touching tribute ever. He delivered it with such a thick Glaswegian accent that Viggo thought he was putting everyone on and doubted anyone understood it. 

Dom's contribution was an obscene limerick that made everyone laugh, Sean hardest of all.

Elijah delivered his tribute in impeccable pig latin. 

Ian recited a portion of Tolkien's own poem, the stanza about the news brought by the north wind. Viggo had been surprised to find tears in his eyes at the end, and the whole crowd had fallen silent. 

John had delivered his piece as Gimli (but not on his knees) which meant that Boromir's chain mail and sword had come in for a goodly amount of praise. And an estimate.

Astin's tribute managed to be both heartfelt and more than a little embarrassing.

Pete had read from a piece of paper which Fran and Philippa had taken away half way through and replaced with a revision. Nobody felt like trying to top that one, and the evening had degenerated into drinking. 

Adjusting his sword, Viggo shifted, catching sight of Andy who was watching him from across the room. He was sitting with a bunch of people from WETA who were deep in heated debate. It was rare to see Andy at the pub. He'd only recently come, and there was still a lot of debate between the mocap and the animation teams over how Gollum was going to be created. Now here he was, not talking to anyone at his table, watching Viggo.

When Viggo met his eyes, Andy looked away. Viggo wondered what that was about, but didn't have the energy to pursue it. Maybe later. Today had been exhausting. He admired Pete's perfectionism, Viggo was that way himself, but the multiple takes of a death scene, any death scene, but especially this one, took its toll. Viggo closed his eyes. They'd focused on him during the morning's takes, on Sean during the afternoon's. 

But of course you were on, in character, the whole time. Viggo'd spent the lunch break sitting by himself in the mess tent, writing, drinking tea. He couldn't eat. This film demanded so much, but he thought that today's work was among the hardest emotionally. At least for him. He wondered what Sean had felt. 

As if summoned by that thought, Sean slid through the group of Elves drinking at the bar and stood next to Viggo, holding two glasses of ale and smiling. He gave one to Viggo. 

They clinked glasses. Viggo drank. His third. He was not going to get drunk. T0hat would be too dangerous tonight. This would be his last one, just enough to smoothe the edges and let him sleep.

"I noticed," Sean said finally.

"Noticed? What?" Viggo wondered if Sean had finally noticed how he watched him, had thought to wonder about all the photographs he'd taken of Sean. Of Boromir.

"You're the one member of the Fellowship who didn't deliver a eulogy."

"Oh. That." Viggo looked at the dark golden ale, wondered how he could have lost all his words. Visuals, shapes of colors, red, black, blue and grey and white, had been swirling through his mind all day--but no words of his own. He'd poured himself into saying all the words written for him, for Aragorn, over and over again, trying for the same or more intensity each time. Now he could find none of his own. 

"Yeah, that." Sean bumped his arm against him and stood so close Viggo could feel his warmth through the denim they both were, smell Sean's citrus soap, a familiar scent. He was pretty sure Sean had showered before coming to the pub. So had Viggo, but he refused to think about that either.

From the start, they had felt at ease with each other, possibly in part because of being so close in age. Viggo treasured the range of ages, nationalities, cultures, gender, sexual identities on this film, and way that those differences seemed to melt away at times in the common love for the story. But there was no denying that being the same age meant a certain shared frame of reference.

And their ease had been shown in physical ways. Some men would never touch another man casually. But he and Sean. . .from the first time they'd met, they felt close enough to touch. Upsetting each other's boats when training on the water, the headbutting that began with Sala, tackling each other from behind. And touches, easy touches. On heads, shoulders, backs, arms. 

"The King afraid to say something in public?"

Looking into the green eyes, Viggo wondered just what it was that he feared.

Shaking his head, Sean continued, "Or did you just use it all up on camera today? The well run dry, so to speak? I told you that method acting would get you into trouble. _I_ didn't die, remember. Just my character. And what are we supposed to be doing next?"

Viggo couldn't remember. He knew they were both off tomorrow, perhaps a coincidence, perhaps not. And he was sure that eventually there'd be a script shoved under his door that would let him know what had just been changed, barely in time to memorize the lines for the day's filming.

Suddenly some words did come to him, unplanned and unscripted.

"Come back with me tonight."

Quiet fell as one of those strange moments in a crowd where everybody stops talking at the same time happened. Viggo wondered if everyone had heard, if the edge in his voice was plain to everyone, but when he looked around, all the conversations were starting up again. Nobody was paying the least attention to him. Or Sean.

Sean turned to face him, back to the rest of the pub, his body seeming to wall off the rest of the people, creating a zone of privacy.

He sipped his ale. Looked at Viggo a moment.

He seemed calm when he spoke. "For another long conversation about how to access one's creativity?"

Viggo shook his head.

"A painting workshop? No, wait, the thirty-third round in our debate about acting methods? The last I checked, I think I'm ahead."

"I don't think so," Viggo said. "But, no, neither of those."

"Not another campout, I hope. I'm getting too old for staying up all night."

Viggo smiled, then sipped his ale to keep from saying the words that sprang immediately to mind. He shook his head again, eyes steady on Sean.

Sean drained his glass, set it down, carefully, twisting it in circles on the bar, eyes on the glass. "You going to show me your etchings, then?"

"Something like that," Viggo said.

Pushing his glass aside, Sean shifted closer to Viggo who refused to back away. The move meant they were nearly touching, and Viggo could feel himself hardening just standing there.

"This is interesting," Sean said. "Why now?"

Viggo shrugged. He hadn't planned this, didn't know why he'd said it, just that it felt right.

"No eulogy, huh, but a proposition," Sean said. "Sounds good to me. Let's go."

He turned and started making his way through the crowd. Viggo stood a moment, staring, then had to hurry after him. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. But then, he thought, as they left the pub and caught up to walk by Sean's side, by now he should know that you could never predict exactly what Sean would do.

* * * * * * *

Viggo turned around from locking the door and kicked his shoes off as he always did the first thing after coming home. 

The last thing he wanted tonight was a drunken Elf or hobbit trying to get in to play a prank. He saw Sean, arms over his head, yanking his blue t-shirt off and tossing it across the room where it landed on the floor. 

Standing with his back to the door, Viggo undid his swordbelt and set the sword carefully against the nearest bookshelf then frankly stared. He'd been in all stages of dress and undress with Sean at various times, along with most of the other actors in the Fellowship, but that was different. That was work. This was pleasure.

Now he could enjoy the broad shoulders, trim waist, blonde hair, and he did. And could accurately remember what was under the blue jeans. Viggo had a very good memory, for words and images. 

His enjoyment lasted right up to the moment Sean moved across the room and pushed Viggo against the door, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head, pulling his arms up as well, then pinning his wrists over his head with it. Viggo opened his mouth to protest, and Sean kissed him.

After an uncounted time, Viggo decided to register his protest later and just enjoy the kiss. Who'd have thought Sean could kiss like this? Good enough to make him forget his discomfort at being held so tightly, his movements restrained.

When the clever mouth started moving down his throat, Viggo's head went back, eyes closing. Imagining the silken glide of those lips over his cock made him harder. 

But when Sean pulled back and dropped one hand to Viggo's jeans, using a belt loop to twist him around to face the door, Viggo tried to pull away. Sean's hand went back to the shirt looped around Viggo's wrists, and he moved forward, pinning Viggo against the door, shifting his feet to either side of Viggo's, pressing his legs around his. 

"No," Viggo said, dragging one hand free of the tightly bunched shirt, twisting and pushing against Sean's shoulder, trying to gain some space.

"What's wrong?" Sean's grip slackened as he stepped back, releasing Viggo.

Letting his arms drop, pushing the twisted shirt off, Viggo relaxed, leaning against the door. "I don't like that," Viggo said. "Being pinned like that. And I don't bottom."

Sean cocked his head, watching Viggo, and crossed his arms. "Well that could be a problem, love," he said. "Because neither do I."

Viggo stared at him a moment, wondering if he could have said it any differently. 

"Should I leave then?"

"No," Viggo said, hastily, stepping forward. "No," he repeated, a little lower, and reached out, his hands going to Sean's shoulders. Gripping hard, then rubbing. 

Sean dropped his arms to his side, and Viggo came half a step closer, running his hands down Sean's arms to his wrists. Then he placed just his fingertips lightly on Sean's chest, above his nipples, began tracing the elegant architecture of his ribs, back and forth, ending up at his hips. 

Viggo knew his hands, like Sean's, were calloused and nicked from hours of sword practice, rowing, archery, so he kept his touch light, teasing, trailing just his fingertips over the smooth skin. 

He could feel Sean's breathing deepen under his touch as he slowly worked his way over the softer skin of his belly, sliding his fingers under Sean's jeans. Stopped then, took another half step, nearly touching the length of their bodies, and looked into green.

"Not unless you want to leave," Viggo breathed. "Do you want to?" Rubbed his thumbs up and down over the bulging fly, felt Sean's response, pressed harder.

A moment, then, "No." 

Viggo smiled, dropped to his knees. Sean's jeans were button fly, and Viggo undid them, pushing the fly open, reaching in to free Sean's cock which was hard. 

Flattening his hands, Viggo slid them across the jeans to rest on Sean's hips, thumbs hooked in the waistband. 

Sean's hand settled around the back of his neck, rubbing gently. Viggo spent a moment working his tongue, feeling the saliva flood his mouth, then shifted closer, sliding his hands around Sean's waist.

Viggo let Sean's hand pull his head forward, ran his tongue up and around Sean's erection, sucked it into his mouth. Closed his eyes, enjoying the warm softness, the slight saltiness, pushing forward, feeling Sean's hips hitch in response. Heard his breathing deepen even more.

Sucked harder, lips working, tongue moving up and down, exulting in Sean's moans, the increasing tension as Sean gripped Viggo's hair, holding him.

Harder, feeling blunt warmth hit the back of his throat, spreading his knees to get lower, tilting his head, hands on Sean's ass urging him to thrust deeper. And again. Viggo took Sean as deep as he could, and Sean came, hands clenched in Viggo's hair.

After a moment, Sean pulled out and went to his knees, sliding his arms around Viggo's shoulders. They leaned against each other a few moments, holding each other up. Both breathing hard, though Sean harder Viggo thought smugly, and both sweating. 

A position which, Viggo vaguely thought, seemed right, what they'd already been doing during the past six months. During that hellish night in the water tank during the fight with the ping pong balls that represented monster tentacles. On Caradhras. Waist deep in fake snow carrying fake hobbits up a mountain. Training to fight Orcs. Sean had always been there, supporting him in one way or another.

A few moments later, Sean hugged him, hard, and said, "Are you just queer about living rooms, or can we move this to the bedroom?"

"You started it in here," Viggo said, then broke off as Sean stood, hauled him to his feet.

"All right then, if I started it, I can move it. I want you spread out on a bed, so let's go." Sean turned him, pushed him toward bedroom. Of course Sean knew the apartment well, had been here many times.

Viggo resisted, turned back. "I don't. . ."

"Bottom. I remember. But do you have anything objection to being comfortable while screwing around in other ways? Let me guess," Sean put his hand to his forehead, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "As a Ranger, do you think you have to have sex only on the hard, cold ground? Is this an important part of your character? What about all those nice comfy beds in Imladris, oh lost heir?"

Viggo grabbed Sean, swung him around, and shoved him toward the bedroom, laughed, and said, "Princes of Gondor can only do it on furs and velvet bedding, no doubt. One sign of a noble House in decay."

Sean pulled Viggo after him down the hall and into the bedroom, flipping the light on without having to look for the switch. Kicked his shoes off. "One might speculate that the dead tree in the courtyard symbolizes something about the vigour and fertility of the line of Kings. But better to do a little research. On the bed."

Twisting Viggo around, Sean pushed him over onto the unmade bed. As he bounced slightly, Viggo tried to remember the cleaning team's schedule. He thought that the sheets had been changed fairly recently. But when Sean leaned over and started unzipping Viggo's jeans, he decided not to worry about it.

Sean slid his hands under Viggo's legs and shifted him until he was lying fully on the bed, pulled his jeans down and off, tugging them over his ankles and feet. Stood up, tossed the jeans behind him, and shoved down his own unbuttoned jeans down, stepped out of them. 

"Got any lube?"

"Nightstand, bottom drawer," Viggo said.

Sean nodded, turned and leaned over. Viggo admired his ass, and the two dimples. It was too bad Sean didn't bottom.

Dropping the tube on the bed, Sean leaned over, pushed Viggo's legs apart. Viggo shifted, spreading his legs, and watched Sean sit on the bed between them. Wasn't sure what he was doing, but trusted Sean to remember what he'd said.

Sean picked up the tube, squeezed a generous amount onto one palm, began rubbing his hands together, slowly, almost meditatively.

"Tell me something?"

"What?"

"Have you _ever_ bottomed?"

"Once," Viggo said. "It wasn’t. . . pleasant." He didn't particularly want to go into details, not here and now.

Sean nodded, slowly rubbing his hands, taking care to spread the lube around palms and fingers. "First time?"

"Uh-huh." Viggo was harder than ever, watching Sean's hands move, slowly, tenderly, and squirmed. Sean smiled.

"I have been told good tops are rare." Sean's grin widened. "I, of course, am superb. Just so you know."

Viggo snorted, then gasped as two warm, slick hands surrounded his erection, fingers massaging gently up and down. Sliding around and under his balls, behind, causing Viggo to arch up. 

Moving up and down, covering every inch of him with lube, the easy glide of Sean's hands tantalizing. 

Closing his eyes, Viggo remembered Boromir's hand grasping his arm in Lothlorien. Both his hands firm around the handle of an elven paddle. Clasping the hilt of his sword. Holding the Ring.

Tensing, Viggo thrust up, wanting more, friction, perhaps, more pressure, something. Felt Sean shift on the bed, one hand withdrawing.

Opened his eyes to see Sean leaning over him--one hand on the bed by his side, looking at him, other hand wrapped around Viggo's cock, warm but still.

"Tell me how long you've been thinking about this," Sean said softly.

Viggo blinked. This seemed like a bad time to start another conversation. He liked talking, had even had two hour long conversations with Sean after midnight about what they'd done on camera that day, but now? "Why?"

"Just wondering. Like I'm wondering what you fantasized doing. Tell me."

"Probably more or less what you were thinking," Viggo said. "I thought about fucking you."

Sean's hand began moving again, squeezing gently, and Viggo breathed out, harshly, closed his eyes. 

"Oh, yes," Sean said, leaning further, close enough for Viggo to feel his breath on his chest. "I imagined you spread out, face down. Pinned. I'd open you up slowly," as he spoke, Sean opened his hand, slid his fingers behind Viggo's balls, rubbing, causing him to arch up. "Then when you were ready, I'd fuck you hard and fast and deep." The hand slid back up, enfolding Viggo, squeezing, thumb rubbing across the tip.

Viggo's muscles in legs and belly tensed. 

Sean shifted, leaning over to take Viggo's cock in his mouth, tongue circling just below the head, hand moving rapidly up and down. Thrusting up, Viggo came, shuddering. Sean continued to hold him, in mouth and hand, swallowing, rubbing. Until Viggo reached down, grabbed his arm, pulled him up and away, across his body for a kiss.

A while later, having turned out the light, Sean stretched out behind him, pulling the covers up, carefully fitting his body close to Viggo's, one arm wrapped close around him. 

"So," Sean's voice was low, breath warm against his neck, "do you ever play games, love?"

Viggo was confused. "What--chess? Card games?"

That caused Sean to laugh, and Viggo knew just how the lines around his eyes would look, the shape of his mouth around that laugh, and say, "We have a lot to talk about, I see."

"Later," Viggo said firmly, relaxing against the warm body behind him.


End file.
